It's Still Kind of Hot out There

I have a big, busy week - probably because there are only three days of it.
I got nothing, creatively.
I'm sapped from the drudgery of lying motionless on my couch, except for the time yesterday when Rosie, let outside to pee, found G-Love and Maggie's Stash of Dead Things and ate a decomposing bird. I tried to stop her, she tried to bite me - I don't even feel like writing about that and it was quite an event, with screaming and chasing and snarling (me) and puking (Rosie).
It's been so hot for so long and there are no monsoons coming in this week so it's, like, knowing that it's going to stay so hot and so dry, my brain is starting to shrivel up and focus soley on the primordial force to FIND WATER.
The courtyard is so dry that it looks like it could catch fire with the slightest spark from a dog's collar brushing the concrete, or from a match struck to light a grill.
I've been trying to water a lot but even watering is kind of hard. I have to do it first thing in the morning or in the nighttime and I have to let the water run into the ground for a good half hour or forty five minutes.
There's just nothing in the reserves right now.
The automated timer quit working; while I am unable to fix that, I am obligated to move hoses and connect them to other hoses and let the water run for a significant amount of time in order to try to save the near-death plants that make me love living in my apartment.
It's kind of sad, to watch things curl up from the heat and the sun and to not be able to do very much about it... on a very small scale, it's like what I imagine working triage in a war would be like. I battle neighbors, fences, heavy hoses, dust, dirt, and Palo Verde Beetles trying to keep everything alive.
It's not fair.
I'm losing the war.
And when Princess Joseph gets back from gallavanting in South America, I'm going to get a couple of earfuls about how everything needed to be better taken care of...
there's only so much of me to go around, dear Landlord.
I feed, I water, I sweat, I get covered in dirt and endure the two-cents from lots of neighbors. The thing about your two cents is that I don't give a fuckety-fuck for two cents. Help me out and I'll pay you fifty cents; offer me your opinion without helping me?
Get out of my line of vision before the Red Russian Rage takes hold of me and I ice you right there in the hot, Arizona afternoon.

I went out Sunday night. It was fun - I went to the gay bar and was immediately surrounded by My People. Flaming, bitchy queens who, like me, know all the words to Mariah's "We Belong Together"; and who, like me, no longer have anythng to hide and are not afraid to give dirty looks, disgusted sighs, or a presumptive hair toss, depending on what the situation calls for.
I am in heaven at the gay bar. I always find a queen to spend the evening with and we pour compliments on each other all night long and it feels good!
Why, WHY, can't I meet a straight man who has the same qualities as my queens but who likes my goods?
I would marry gay, I think.
The problem with marrying gay is that men usually have an easier time seperating home from sex and in that type of arangement, my gay husband would probably be more apt to have a boyfriend, or to have one before I do.
Having been perfectly happy in a celebate relationship, I would do it again, all things being equal and exceeding my previously sexless love.
I know it's hot outside, and I'm in a bad mood, and I have killer cramps and stuff but...
maybe I don't want "it" all.
Maybe I would be very satisfied Kissing Jonathon Stein; being with someone who can be my best friend and paint my toenails and play with the dog but who doesn't need to have the relationship validated with, or defined by, sex.
I don't want to be mediocre or settle for someone hetero, just because he's available and healthy and wants a little baby girl and a little house in Colorado.
I won't tolerate "okay" and I probably wouldn't be able to stomach "normal" for too long.
I just...
I don't know how much further I can delve into this right now. It's totally possible that 5 years from now, I'll live in a Kansas City subdivision with my husband, who works for the state and I'll have a kitchen that smells like toddlers.
I've been having these dreams and I hate dreaming about specific people. I hardly ever do it and I hate it when I do and I wish I could banish certain ex-boyfriends named Steve from my dreams. I don't want that person and I don't want that life.
Unfortunately, I don't know how much I want this current life, either and I'm not 100% sure what the other options are.
If anybody has some ideas for me, or would care to sweep me off of my feet and show me that I can have the gigantic life I want, I'm here.
I'm at work, waiting to be done with working.
I'm worrying about watering my landlord's plants, wanting to worry only about picking tomatos out of my own garden.

Come and get me - I'm ready to get picked up and flown away.
Boss Who Make Me Cry: 83
Me: 1
I'm on the board now. FINALLY.

arizonasarah at 9:25 a.m.

previous | next